Fing spent the early hours of this morning practising his jumping.
First of all he did some standard jumps from the bed to the floor, from floor to the toilet top, out of the bath, onto the floor.
He then picked up the pace with some intermediate jumping, from window sill to top of wicker laundry basket to floor. From the top level of the scratchy pole, to the second, to the third, to the floor.
He limbered up and prepared himself for some truly advanced jumping which involved landing with different expressions on his stupid furry face.
When he leapt at the third shelf in the airing cupboard and missed, he affected an air of surprise as he landed on the floor to be covered in clean towels from the shelves above.
When he attempted a running jump with the aim of landing, standing, and balancing on top of my precarious boot box pile, he failed in the balancing and knocked it all to the ground. For this he tried to look innocent as he nonchalantly walked away.
His grand finale was a spring from the far end of the dresser, twitching his tail as his jump gathered momentum. He sprung like a coiled viper! His initial spring brings him to the other end of the dresser at which point he bundles his body into a dive bomb, to land, smack bang, in the middle of my stomach.
I couldn't see the look on his face at this point because the little fucker ran off and hid under the bed.
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